


What He Meant to Her

by Kellerella



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:54:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21748621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellerella/pseuds/Kellerella
Summary: Celaena just found out about the death of her mentor and Arobynn's second-in-command, Ben, and has vowed to retrieve his body for burial. But now that she has left the keep on her own, she puts aside her grief to make a plan and is filled with fear about entering the domain of the King of Ardalan. With the stars looking down on her, she remembers all that Ben meant to her and decides to face her fear or leave his body to the Palace's guards. Contains flashbacks to the time right after she met Arobynn and Ben up until a few months before the story begins.  Contains spoilers for Crown of Midnight.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	What He Meant to Her

When she found out that one of the only people that cared about her is dead, she gained the right to be temperamental tonight. But still, Ben always taught her that making a plan and entering a fight with anything but a clear head will always end in disaster. She can’t think fast enough when she is upset. So fifteen minutes after she stormed out of the meeting that announced that Ben was dead and his body had not been retrieved from the Palace Guards, she sat down on the roof of the Guild, stared at the stars shining behind the glass castle, and attempted to calm herself down.  
Ben’s body would be near the dungeons, not in them, but not far away either. They would want to keep the smell away from the pompous nobles that lived and passed through the prettier parts of the monstrosity made of glass that the most recent king had built on the bones of the stone castle that stood on the banks of the Avery River for centuries.   
Attempting entry into any part of the palace was dangerous, but she had been taught how to get in and out of the dungeons of the scale drawings of the place and plans of guard shifts that had been stolen over the years. As Ben often said, you never know when a mission would go to shit and land you bound for the executioner’s block. The dungeons were one of the few buildings that were not replaced when the glass palace was constructed since the beginning of the King’s reign, still made of the stone bricks that had been taken from the nearby mountains when the Kingdom of Ardalan had first formed in the ashes of war. So if she could get into the dungeons, and then just go a little further, she should be able to find Ben without venturing into the parts made of glass. The parts that Celeana was sure would shatter underneath her feet with the dread and fear she carried for those who lurked within.   
Celaena took a deep breath, thought about the amount of dismay and uneasiness she felt about entering the den of those who had been responsible for the slaughter of millions, including her family, and the destruction and eradication of the magic that once sang through every piece of the land in the name of unifying and civilizing the continent to the values of those who believed magic was an offense against the very gods the rest of the people believed gave it to them. Then, she thought about everything Ben was to her, everything he had done for her. She looked to the stars, to the only constellation that was always there, watching over her, and made her decision.  
Seven years, eight months ago...  
The Lord of the North looked down from its perch above Orynth and watched the little girl, the one that was no longer a princess but not yet an assassin, stare back. In her view, the Northern sky was nearly impossible to see through the rising haze of smoke from the fires currently blanketing so much of the kingdom that she held so dear. The little girl hugged her knees tighter to her chest, and continued to stare out the window in the room that had been her life since she woke up a week ago from the illness that shook her body and nearly killed her.   
She had tried to escape once, a few days ago. She managed to unlock the door with the rudimentary lock picking skills her cousin had taught her in order to pull a prank on someone. She had opened the door only to find the man that had come in occasionally to hear the reports from the nurse, standing there, waiting for her. He was tall and plain, not worthy of notice except for his kind eyes and smile. This time he looked down at her, his eyes crinkled and his mouth releasing a chuckle. The little girl had already known his loyalties, his obedience to the man with the red hair and expressionless face who was still debating who he wanted to sell her to. So she had felt little guilt when she drew her arm back and made a fist, aiming for his privates. He had caught her fist, and her other one, and tripped her when she tried to kick him. Then he had picked her up and carried her back to her bed, before he retreated and locked her door again, laughing all the way.   
Now, she just sat and stared out the window, until she fell asleep again, only to wake up and continue staring at the distant curls of smoke that dotted the morning sky. And this was where she was when she heard a firm knock on the door, and then the rattle of the rock and the creak of the door opening when she did not reply.   
“Laura says you aren’t eating anything but the bread she brings you. You need to eat and regain your strength.” It was that man again, the one that had laughed at her attempts of freedom. The little girl now hated him with every fiber of her being for stoping her and laughing at her weakness. Laura must be the maid who looked at her with pity every time she entered the room. The little girl did not want pity. She wanted her life back.  
“What is the point? I’ll just die anyway.” the little girl said, voice clear and firm even now, unable to drop the years of proper dictation lessons even now that her tutor was probably dead.   
“You don’t know that.” the man replied, Master Ben, she had heard the nurse call him.   
“Yes I do. Either I am directly given away to be executed by Ardalan, or hidden away by whatever is left of my uncle’s court before I am inevitably found and killed, I’ll be killed one day soon. Forgive me for wanting to stop your master from earning money off of it.”  
There was silence for a minute, then without warning, since she had not yet been trained to listen to the shifting of air that indicted movement, she felt hands grip her arms tightly as she was lifted off the bench.   
“What are you rutting doing?” she yelled.  
The man stopped for a moment in his progress out of the room, laughed, and began again. “You know, for a little princess, you got quite a mouth.”  
“My cousin taught me. Now put me down!” she screamed as she attempted to kick his shins until he dropped her. It was no use, his grip remained firm as he carried her down the stairs and out of the building. He walked to the edge of the Avery river and then dropped in the mix of mud and the last of the melting snow.   
“Get up.”   
“No.”  
He grabbed her hands this time, pulled her arms above her head until she gave up and supported her own weight. “Why are you doing this?”  
She saw Ben take a breath before he kneeled in the mud so he could look her in the eye. “Arobynn might be debating it, but he won’t sell you to the king.” She opened her mouth to question him, but he anticipated it and answered her already. “Because he’s from Terrasen. You blasted people always seem to have some brainwashed connection of romanticism and loyalty for the place. Seeing his home country being conquered has more of an effect on him then he’ll admit. He’ll want to give you a chance of surviving.”  
Aelin was hugging herself now that the night chill and the wet mud started to seep in. “And you couldn’t tell me this inside where it was warm, because?”  
Ben smiled and stood up again, not bothering to brush the mud off his pants. “Because mud is softer than the wood in your room, and we, mostly you, will need that softness.”  
The little girl looked up at him in confusion. “I’m going to teach you how to fight,” Ben said.   
“Why?”  
“Because wherever you end up, you’ll need to be able to have a better defense than the pitiable attempts you have shown me so far. You have the passion, just not the technique,” he concluded.   
“I’m to small for it to matter” she argued.  
He grinned at her. “If you are quick enough, it won’t matter. If you’re really good, it will even be an advantage.”  
So, that night, under the stars, the little girl was taught the basics of self-defense. And from his bedroom, the man with the red hair watched his second in command and the little girl grapple and got an idea that would one day change the world.   
Seven years, nine months ago.  
The little girl sat in her bench at the window again, staring at the stars, but this time her stomach was upset and her focus was on the faint notes of music that had arisen from somewhere in the building a few minutes ago.   
For the first time since she had woken up over a month ago, she voluntarily left her room. The door had stopped being locked after Ben decided that she was too afraid of what may happen to her to leave the relative safety she had been given in that house on the bank of the river. So she opened the door and followed the music until she found Ben in the parlor, playing a pinaforte.   
She had learned that these men that had found her and saved her were assassins, from the Northern Guild located in the capital city of Ardalan, Rifthold. She vaguely remembered overhearing her parents mentioning that the Guild had tried to set up a location in Orynth, and her parents had received information that they had been successfully driven out.   
Now, to see this man that apparently made a living killing people, and had shown a great amount of skill every time she had seen him practice with her or his master, coaxing such a beautiful sound into the world was unbelievable. Still, the little girl stood transfixed at the first beautiful thing she had experienced since her life fell apart.   
Ben’s shoulders and back tensed and released as his hands shimmered across the keys. The notes filled the air, shaking it as he hit the bass keys. There was an underlying melody that was light and airy, as within the tremoring low notes there was joy and happiness as well.  
“Do you play?” Ben asked, not stopping the song.  
“No, but I was going too. I love music. I saw a letter my parents had written to a potential tutor for me. I think it was going to be a present for my ninth birthday.” The little girl said. It made her mind ache when she thought about her mother and father, worsening the turning of her stomach.   
She walked closer to Ben, so she could watch his fingers fly. The movement fascinated her. They stopped talking for a while, and just listened to the music. This time, it was she who broke the silence. “I don’t know if I can do it. If I can stomach it. ”  
Ben looked at her in understanding. “It’s not as hard as you think, and worse than you would ever believe.”  
“How do you do it?” she asked. Despite his skill in fighting, Ben had shown her nothing but kindness, even if he was a bit gruff.   
As Ben thought, the melody he played changed, becoming slower and bitter. “There’s a school of thought that believes that everyone has a single emotion that fuels everything they do. For me, it’s the love I hold for my friend.”  
“Arobynn? He’s like, your brother” the little girl asked.  
After a brief pause, Ben said. “Yes. I think, that if you want to survive, it’s rage that you will need.”  
“Rage?” the little girl asked in confusion.   
“Yes, little dark one. For everything that has been done to you, for everything that will happen to you. I’ve seen it in you when we fight. It could work.”  
It wasn’t until hours had passed that the little girl watched the lid of the pianoforte shut, and she asked her only friend left, “Will you teach me to play?”  
That night, the red-haired man smiled as his friend told him the news.   
Two days later, Ben put his hands over Celaena’s and helped her push the dagger into her first victim. The girl felt the stars glaring down on her is a disappointment, but Celaena let the rage, they want to hurt others as she had been hurt, block them out so that she could survive another day. 

Three years ago.  
News had come that day, that in the Glass Palace a few blocks away from the guild in Rifthold, a banquet in honor of the King’s newest general’s victory in the North. As a reward for winning a battle, the King had granted General Ashryver the Sword of Orynth, the sword that the monarchs of Terrasen had carried for centuries. How fitting that the General, a man once sworn to protecting Terrasen, would now wield the blade while he removed those who resisted the values of Ardalan.  
Celaena had heard the news while she was shopping. Now, the girl laid on her bed while Ben rubbed her back. And amidst the anguish, she felt relief and joy rise up. The assassin squashed it caused her to unravel.  
Two years, eleven months ago.  
Celaena clutched her broken hand to her chest as she sat on the roof and stared at the stars, waiting for the argument going on inside the house to end. She had broken it that day by shutting a door on it, at her master’s orders, so that she could not depend on her dominant hand for a few months while she improved on her left. Ben was livid. After setting it and telling her lewd jokes to try to get her to stop crying, he left to yell at Arobynn. For her.   
Eventually, Ben quieted, and the matter was never spoken of again,  
Two years ago  
The girl woke up from her nightmare screaming. After she had failed to touch the stage because of the river separating them, the stag had walked away while the ground underneath her feet crumpled and she fell into the freezing water.   
Ben burst in from his room next door, and then stopped when he saw no one attacking her. He did a mental count in his head, then asked “The same one as last year?”  
The girl gave a bitter laugh. “And the year before that, and the year before that.”  
Two months ago  
General Ashryver was in town again, carousing and drinking in the taverns, bragging about his deeds for the king.   
Celaena didn’t take part like the rest of the city. She sat and played the pianoforte, which is where Ben found her when he came back to the keep. He had indeed taught her to play, and like every skill he had taught her, she had managed to surpass him.   
He listened to her for a while in the doorway tap out a complicated piece, ignoring the world around her. Then, he broke the silence. “Do you miss him?”  
The music stopped and started again, before the girl answered. “Yes and no. I try not to think about it.”  
“Do you hate him?” Ben asked.  
The girl replied, “It’s hard to blame him when he is probably just trying to survive and forget. Besides, I’ve done things just as bad.”  
“Do you think, that if he knew the truth, he would still be loyal to the king?”   
The girl’s mouth tensed. “I don’t know. He might hate me if he knew the truth?”  
Ben thought for a moment before he said, “I think that you a hard person to stop loving once someone considers you their family.” Then, he leaned over and kissed the top of her head, before leaving her to put herself back together.   
And listening from the next room was the red-haired man, and he was not happy.  
Several hours later  
Celaena shoveled dirt into the grave she had dug for her friend. Arobynn walked up behind her, still pale from the shock of the death of his second-in-command and most loyal friend. He did not say anything to her, but used the shovel he had brought to help her. Celaena felt the tears on her cheeks as she and the last person who knew her and cared about her buried their best friend.


End file.
